Tuna
by Rasenritsu
Summary: It was true that he complained a about a whole bunch of things, but recently he’d come to he’d come to the conclusion that there was one thing in his life he should be allowed to lament. Namely the food they lived of. ShikaTema , oneshot.


For Ven Diagram , who wanted more so badly , for naruhina will rule , who was willing to waste paper on my drabbles , and for Feulna , my dear beta-reader .

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It was true that he complained a lot, about a whole bunch of things, whenever a situation gave him a chance to do so. A part of him agreed with Temari whenever she would snarl at him he had to stop whining about, well, everything, but recently he'd come to the conclusion that there was one thing in his life he should be _allowed_ to lament.

Namely the food they lived of.

The blonde was, quite frankly, a disaster in the kitchen, and even though his lazy habits had become less over the years, cooking was still too much of a drag for Shikamaru, which meant that the both of them were forced to eat Chinese take-away meals or canned food.

And not just once a month, or even week, no, every single day, because both of them refused to position themselves behind the furnace and _do_ something with it for once. The only thing they ever used it for was making popcorn, in their own ingenious way.

Not only that, but the kunoichi took whatever opportunity to harass him about the fact that 'this was all his fault', because, she would add, he would be able to cook if he really wanted to, he was just too much of a lazy ass. He always felt like retorting with a 'you could cook as well if you took a few lessons' but he feared her smoldering glares too much to do so. Number one coward and all.

--

Then, one day, when he returned home from a particularly crappy C-ranked mission, completely soaked thanks to the pouring rain, the Nara decided he was sick of all the nagging (and the bad food). He didn't want to hear one more complaint about his 'lazy ass'. That, and he wasn't quite sure he would be able to handle another take-away dish. Most of the time he didn't even know _what_ he was actually eating. It was time to save himself from her bitching _and_ from the bami pang wang thingamajig or whatever it was.

Without even changing, an umbrella was grabbed, and the poor wet guy headed for the nearest supermarket.

--

When Temari stepped into the apartment not too long after, she was greeted by a few scents she didn't exactly smell on a daily base, one of them truly standing out. A sniff. Fish?

Frowning lightly, she made her way over to the chamber the odd aroma came from. ''Oii, crybaby.'' It had become a pet name by now. Positioning herself in the doorframe, she eyed him for a moment as he stirred in a pan of what seemed to be rice. "What are you doing?" She was unable to hide the incredulous tone in her voice. What had happened to Chinese?

A tired sigh, and Shikamaru cast a glance over his shoulder. "What does it look like?" He scowled lightly, before turning back to the food he was preparing. "I'm _cooking_."

The female's stare lasted for just a little longer, and then she entered the kitchen, shaking her head. "I can't believe you're actually doing something for once." He made a noise that was something stuck in between a mutter and a growl, causing her to crack a sly grin, and then she pattered over to cupboards hanging above the countertop, to grab a set of plates. If he was busy with the food, then she would take care of the table.

--

During the first few minutes of dinner, an almost tangible silence hung in the air, neither of them sure of what to say about this. Shikamaru thought it tasted pretty good, and so did Temari, she just wasn't willing to admit it, because that would mean she'd recognize he was (much) better than her at something, and she had an ego that needed to be fed.

But not only her obnoxious pride needed to be satisfied, the same went for her stomach, so after finishing her first bowl of rice, fish, and greens, she reached out towards the platters to get herself a refill, only to find that her gaze met that of her companion.

They did nothing but look at one another for a moment, and then it was the guy who decided to take the initiative for once. "And?" He inquired, nodding towards the large bowl of rice she had wanted to pull towards her.

The kunoichi merely shrugged, drawing the dish towards her so she scoop a spoonful of white grains into her own container. "You did so-so, I guess."

Meat was added, followed by vegetables, and when she returned to plates to their former position, she noticed that the pineapple-haired Chuunin was still gazing at her. "What?" She snapped, feeling rather irked thanks to his sudden change of behavior.

He just gave an unappreciative snort, and picked up his chopsticks, ready to continue eating. "Ino would've liked my tuna."

--

That evening, hell descended down upon him.


End file.
